


To Save A Hawke

by Redamber79



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Circle Mage Bethany Hawke, Dom Fenris (Dragon Age), F/M, Gay Sex, Heterosexual Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Leandra Hawke Dies, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Original Character(s), Out of Character, Purple Hawke, Sebastian Vael Smut, Sub Hawke, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 16:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redamber79/pseuds/Redamber79
Summary: A prompt through Facebook's DA Universe, what really happened to Orsino.  This went all over, so forgive me if it takes a while to get to that question.  I tried to keep most in character, but Sebastian Vael is most definitely not. Fair warning.





	To Save A Hawke

Varric sat in Hawke's library, a mug of beer in his thick hands as he stared at the fireplace. His duster was thrown over a chair, Bianca propped in a corner, his blood-smeared gloves resting on her pommel. His hair had fallen unnoticed from its usual tidy knot, reaching his broad shoulders with a light wave, and his lightly sanded fingertips ran over and over the simple carving on the mug. He mused over the recent events, a slight frown creasing his brow. His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden entrance of his best friend, Garrett Hawke. Garrett's face was drawn with stress and exhaustion behind his beard, his thick, dark hair standing on end from running his hands through it. Varric looked to the door, expecting another to arrive, but Garrett's slim shadow was absent. Garrett closed the door to the rest of the house, shutting off the cacophony that had come with him.

“Varric, you've got to help me with this,” Hawke pleaded, his usual sardonic demeanour absent. “No one can know.”

Varric's smooth voice broke through Hawke's growing panic. “I know, Hawke. We'll sort it out. Where's Broody?” Varric asked. “I didn't think he'd leave your side for anything, especially now.”

A small smile lit Hawke's face for a moment at the mention of his lover. “He's helping clear the rubble with Sebastian. They've got Donnic in my armour and helm, so my absence won't be noticed.”

“How did you get Sebastian to agree with that little charade?!” Varric exclaimed.

“He suggested it,” Hawke said with a troubled smirk.

“What?! Choir-Boy isn't just going along with the lie, but thought it up in the first place? You think you know a guy.”

Hawke chuckled drily. “I think he's regressing to his “sinful” days, in more ways than one. He's got someone. The whole devout routine was to hide her from everyone.”

Varric's jaw dropped. “You're shitting me. How did I miss that?”

“You weren't looking for it. You were too busy pestering me about Fenris, and we were planning the trip to the Deep Roads,” Hawke retorted with a grin, finally seeming his old self. He sighed then. “There's going to be an inquiry into Meredith's and Orsino's deaths. It's only a matter of time. They both had it coming, for what they did, but I can't let anyone know the truth. I'll take the blame for it all.”

Varric held up his hands, as though to deny those words. “Don't even think about it, Hawke. I have an idea, and it'll keep everyone safe. But I need you to fill in the blanks for me, so I don't makes any mistakes. Give me everything you remember, and when the inquiry happens, you're gone. They'll talk to Aveline, and me, and we'll make sure no one knows what happened to Orsino. Meredith is self-explanatory, if insane,” he muttered, shivering at the thought of the grotesque statue in the Gallows courtyard.

Hawke sighed, and poured himself a drink. He was going to need it.

**

Hawke barely noticed as Quentin and Gascard dropped dead to the floor, his only focus getting to his mother. She collapsed as he reached her side, and Hawke stared in misery at the horrific creation with his mother's face. She reached up to stroke his cheek with a hand not her own, and Hawke fought a shudder. “My beloved boy,” she whispered. “It's not your fault. Take care of yourself, and of…” her words trailed off, and Hawke bowed his head in sorrow, tears tracking down to disappear into his beard.

He heard a light step behind him, and when strong, slim arms wrapped around his shoulders, he leaned against Fenris’ side, sobbing into his lover's neck. Fenris' tattoos flared, as they frequently did at Hawke's touch since their first night together, but rather than draw back, Fenris only held him tighter.

Fenris let him weep for several minutes, while Sebastian and Anders stood close by, Anders healing the small wounds the archer had received fighting the blood mages and their minions. Hawke absently noted when Fenris pressed his lips to Hawke's temple, then felt him nod slightly. Anders approached quietly, and without a word, healed both Hawke and Fenris.

Fenris stroked a gentle hand through Hawke's hair, caressing down to his neck. “Come, Hawke. Let's get her out of here. That room we passed, with the books and the bedchamber, we can use the curtains to carry her out.”

“You go, Fenris. Please. I need to be alone with her for a few moments.” Hawke murmured softly, not looking up from his mother's face, his hand gently stroking her hair.

Fenris hesitated briefly, then nodded. “I'll be back in a moment, love.” As the lanky elf stood and jerked his chin at Anders to follow him, he met Sebastian's eyes. The archer nodded, and took up watch at a respectful distance from the grieving man. Nothing would catch Hawke unawares while he mourned.

  
**

  
It was a somber group that emerged into Lowtown's dawn. Sebastian immediately sprinted off to fetch Aveline, knowing she'd make their passage back to Hightown with a body far simpler. A body in Lowtown wasn't unheard of. A body in Hightown wasn't either, but there would be more gossip and staring. In Lowtown everyone knew to mind their own when an armoured group came through with a corpse. What felt like forever, but was less than an hour, Sebastian returned, with Aveline, Donnic, and a troop of guards in tow.

“I'm sorry, Hawke,” was all the stern Guard-Captain said.

It was a long walk to the estate. When they arrived, Bodahn opened the door hurriedly, as Sebastian had stopped to warn of Leandra's death. Orana wept in a corner of the antechamber, her gentle soul rent by another tragic loss in her young life. The moment they stepped through the door Bodahn ran out the door to fetch Gamlen and Varric from Lowtown.

Hawke and Fenris carefully carried Leandra's body to her bedchamber, and laid her gently on the bedspread. Orana peeked around the edge of the frame, watching her usually boisterous employer and his elven companion bow their heads, hands clasped lightly. Taking a deep breath, she knocked timidly on the door frame.

“Master Hawke? Please, let me tend to her. That wrapping is dusty and torn. Mistress…” her voice broke for a moment, but she raised her chin and pressed on. “Mistress Leandra deserves something nicer, and clean.” She held out a bundle of fabric, and Hawke absently recognised their best linen bedsheets, white and soft, with delicate lace edges.

“Thank you, Orana. But… I don't want you to see her. A blood mage…” he faltered, then cleared his throat roughly and continued. “This may be worse than anything your former master did.” Fenris' head whipped up, and he scowled at the mention of Hadriana. Then he shook his head.

“Hawke, let the girl help. This isn't worse.” He turned to Orana, and gazed at her thoughtfully a moment. “You're brave to face this for her sake.”

Orana flushed in embarrassment and stared at the floor, as always slightly intimidated by the warrior. “I didn't get to tend to Papa,” she whispered. “Master's Mama was so kind. I can do this for her.”

Hawke's stony features softened for a brief moment, not yet a smile, but his eyes warmed as he looked at the shy elven servant. “Very well. But it can wait a little longer. I want Anders up here as well.”

Fenris' lips twisted. He and the mage had an uneasy truce, but tried to keep the peace for Hawke's sake. “I'll fetch him, I think he was headed to the kitchen with Sebastian.”

Hawke reached over and grasped his lover's shoulder, and his lips twitched upward for an instant, as always, amused by the slightly irritated tone in Fenris's voice when he mentioned the mage. “Thank you, Fenris. I'd rather a healer on hand… I have to know she's free.”

Fenris looked down at the mutilated body on the bed, then met Hawke's eyes. His only reaction was a slight widening of his stormy green eyes, but Hawke saw the horror he felt mirrored there at the thought that Leandra might be partially trapped in the wretched corpse before them. Fenris held his gaze another few heartbeats, then gave a slow nod of understanding. Without a word, he turned and exited the room, and Hawke beckoned Orana closer.

“Orana, this will be difficult. A very bad mage hurt many women, and … and parts of all of them are here.” Hawke spoke gently, but wanted to give the girl another chance. She hadn't seen the horrible wounds, and coarse stitching yet. He took a deep breath, and gently uncovered his mother's beloved face. Orana's eyes filled with tears again, but she didn't let them spill over her lashes, blinking rapidly. Then Hawke pulled the curtain they'd used as a shroud just slightly lower, so Orana could see the grisly wound at the neck. She gasped softly, but when she looked up at her employer, there was only pity in her eyes.

“Master Hawke, I'm so sorry about your Mama.”

Hawke's eyes started to water again, and he nodded somewhat sharply as he turned away. He cleared his throat again, and muttered, “What is taking that elf of mine so long? Perfect chance for him to drag Anders by the ear, and no sign of either.” He turned back to the servant, and asked softly, “Stay with her, please.”

Without waiting for an answer, he stepped out of his mother's room and quickly descended the stairs. Sandal looked at him sadly from his corner, but didn't speak. Aveline stood by the fireplace with Donnic, the rest of the guards long since dismissed.

“-Word to Moira, she ought to be in the Gallows courtyard,” Aveline was saying to her second. “She and Ser Emeric started this investigation, she deserves to know the truth of this. Then speak to the Knight Commander. Do be sure to stress that the mage was an apostate and not from Kirkwall. Last thing we need is to give Meredith more reason to crack down on her charges.”

“At once, Guard Captain!” Donnic gave a brief salute, then nodded to Hawke in farewell and strode from the estate with purpose, his armour clanking, but not slowing him down.

“Aveline, where are Fenris, Anders, and Sebastian?” Hawke queried, running a hand through his unruly sable hair. He turned his back without waiting for an answer, and walked through the door to the library. Aveline followed, shaking her head when Hawke tilted a bottle of liquor at her in question.

“None for me thanks, I'm on duty and have a meeting with the viscount shortly regarding the qunari. Pity, you've got a better selection than he does.”

“Come back later, I'll save you some. Bring Donnic,” Hawke smirked as he poured a measure of whiskey for himself, amused at the blush in his friend's cheeks.

“Hawke, you've had the worst day, don't make me kick your ass,” she retorted.

Hawke chuckled softly, but it was a bitter, broken sounding thing. Aveline took a step closer, theb turned and leaned on the edge of the desk. She watched with concern as Hawke tossed back the liquor and eyed the bottle.

“As for that trio, Sebastian has gone to advise the Grand Cleric. Apparently she's spoken well and often of Leandra. He means to ask her to perform the Rites.”

Hawke's breathing faltered for a moment. A funeral, of course. And as a noble, public. He rubbed a long-fingered hand over his eyes roughly, then nodded.

“Of course. I'll have to thank him for the thought. And Fenris and Anders?” Aveline looked away for a moment, and chewed on her lip. Hawke frowned, his stoic friend rarely showed nerves, other than during cards. “Aveline?” he pressed.

“They took the basement passage to Darktown,” she finally said.

“What?! Why? And why not tell me?” Hawke exclaimed, feeling somewhat abandoned.

Aveline met his eyes strongly, all previous hesitation vanished. “As Guard Captain, I don't know this. But there's a passage in Darktown to the Gallows. To _inside_ the Gallows.”

Hawke paled, his tanned face going white behind his beard. “No, they can't!”

Aveline waved a soothing hand at him. “It's alright. Donnic will keep Meredith busy, she won't be looking to the mages in the Gallows, other than the First Enchanter. You know she'll drag him in to shout and lay blame, and he'll shout back. No one will notice.”

“Aveline, Mother died asking me to keep Bethany safe. Hours later I'm to smile as my idiot friends and my idiot lover break her out of the Circle?! You've seen her letters, she's _happy_ there. She doesn't need to run anymore, she can learn. I should just be going to see her myself to tell her about Mother.”

“Hawke, she's a former apostate, and I'm sorry to say, your sister. You'd have to put a visitation request through the Knight Commander, and it's odds to evens whether she'd let you within a fortnight. Bethany deserves to know, and to pay her last respects. Then we'll sneak her back in. No one will be the wiser.”

Hawke took a shuddering breath. “She's all I have left,” he murmured, almost too softly to hear. Aveline laid a comforting hand on his broad shoulder, not saying a word as he shook silently in his grief.

“Hawke?” came a familiar smooth voice from the hall. Varric strode through the door, his tan duster flapping behind him, and held out a bottle. “Hawke, what can I say? This one… I don’t have the words this time. But drinks are on me today.”

Hawke quirked a smile at the dwarf, and nodded. “I'll take that offer, but not too quickly. We're going to have guests shortly. And it's such bad form to drink before midday, according to Hightown.”

Varric gave a low chuckle and raised a sardonic eyebrow at the glass still in Hawke's hand. “Why do you think I stay at the Hanged Man? It's never too early. Or late.”

Hawke huffed a laugh at his friend, but shook his head. “Not til Fenris and Anders are back. They’ve… gone to collect Bethany.”

Varric pursed his lips, and quirked an eyebrow at the redheaded Guard Captain. “Using the passage, huh?”

Hawke sputtered a moment, then rolled his eyes. “Of course you'd know about it. Question is, why didn't I?”

“Blondie needed help. He was sneaking someone out, but slavers happened upon the passage. He, Aveline, Donnic, and I quashed them, and got the mage out.”

“Aveline? That's quite the change of tune…”

She shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “This isn't the Ferelden Circle. I believed in it. But here? The mage was barely more than a girl. A templar had… gotten her pregnant. They wouldn't let her abort. Said it was her punishment for luring a good templar to lose his way,” she spat.

Varric snarled angrily, surprising Hawke. Other than to curse at his brother, the dwarf almost never raised his voice. “Don't sugar-coat it Aveline. Alrik was never a good templar. He raped her, and who knows how many others. Not to mention his raving about a Tranquil solution. Just as well he found the passage and Blondie went glowy on him. I hate the thought of him anywhere near Sunshine.”

Hawke stared at his short friend for a moment, absorbing the implications of that rant. “Why the hell wasn't I told about this?! When did all this happen?”

Varric's eyes twinkled at him as he returned to his usual good nature. “Well, you'd helped Broody with something, along with Rivaini and Choir-Boy. Oddly enough, they showed up for Wicked Grace, but you and Broody didn't. You must have been otherwise occupied.”

Hawke merely smirked. “Quite. What happened to the mage girl, anyway?”

Aveline picked up the thread of the tale. “She'd been knocked out by the slavers when it all started. Anders and his passenger had opinions about that, and swept into the fray. The slavers dropped Ella, and Donnic scooped her out harm's way. Just as well she was out cold, Justice is enough to terrify anyone. Once Alrik was dead, we got her back to Anders' clinic, he healed her wounds, and gave her a tincture. A week later Isabela got her onto a ship for Denerim. King Alistair is sympathetic to mages, after all, what with the Hero being one.”

Hawke nodded, then turned quickly to the hall as he heard voices from the kitchen. His sister had arrived.

**

Hawke strode out to meet Bethany, and swept her into his arms. She shook with her weeping, her hands clutching at his pauldrons. Only then did he realise he was still in his armour, his daggers needed to be cleaned, and he was in dire need of a bath. He shook his head, and simply held his sister while she cried, stroking her long dark hair softly.

Eventually, Bethany lifted her head and met her brother's gaze, both with eyes red-rimmed and sore from crying. “Take me to her, Brother.”

Hawke wanted to deny her. She was such a gentle soul, she shouldn't remember their mother like this. But looking down at her, he knew her will was unwavering. He sighed and nodded. “Very well. I want Anders to come along for a moment though. The spell… Bethany, it was horrific. I have to be certain it's over.”

Bethany closed her eyes briefly in pain, then she nodded. “I understand.”

Hawke turned to the healer mage and beckoned him over. “If you don't mind, I'll dismiss Orana for a few minutes. I'd rather not frighten her half to death if something does go wrong.”

Fenris's low, gravelly voice grabbed his attention, as always. “You do her too little credit. She is learning who she can be, now that she's free of Hadriana.”

Hawke acknowledged the point, but he had another thought. If something _did_ go wrong, an elven servant with no fighting skills, no magic, would be a tremendous liability in the room. “You may be right, but I won't risk her safety. It won't take long.” Fenris gave a small smile to his lover, knowing Hawke's aim was always to protect others.

Aveline stopped Hawke before he could ascend the staircase. “I need to go for that meeting with the Viscount. I'll come back later. Take care, Hawke, Bethany.”

Varric stood and scooped up his crossbow. “I'll come with you, I have some business in the Keep.”

The dwarf and the Guard Captain strode out together, Aveline warning Varric that she'd better not see any more chapters to his ridiculous story strewn about her barracks. Hawke chuckled softly, then turned to Fenris.

“Would you wait here, love? Sebastian is likely to bring news soon, and Gamlen may turn up at any time. I definitely don't want him to see Mother this way.”

Fenris' eyes warmed as he looked up at his taller lover. “Anything for you, Hawke.” He watched as the rogue moved silently up the stairs, despite his armour. His ears twitched at the sound of the door opening, but as he turned and saw Sandal's melancholy lift, he simply called out, “Bodahn, no sign of Gamlen then?”

“I'm afraid not, Master Fenris. Though I did find Captain Isabela, she said she'd be by shortly.”

Fenris nodded, and jerked his head towards the kitchen. “I'm going to assemble some sort of meal. Hawke hasn't eaten since Gamlen showed up last night, and it's been a very long night and morning since. Would you draw him a bath, please?”

“Well, I would, Master Fenris, but word is starting to spread, and I'd rather not leave my post near the door. Too many people coming to see and chatter, and none paying any respect to Mistress Leandra. But I'll have my boy prepare the bath, and he'll even keep it piping hot as the master likes, isn't that right, my boy?”

“Enchantment!” Sandal exclaimed, though his usual exuberance was absent.

Fenris simply nodded, and headed for the kitchen.

**

Hawke led Anders and his sister to Leandra's bedchamber, knocking lightly on the door to not startle Orana.

“Thank you for staying with her, Orana. If I could ask you to step out for a moment, Anders needs quiet and space to work, just for a few minutes.” The girl nodded and left quietly, though casting a curious eye at Bethany.

“Bethany, this… this will be the worst thing you've ever seen. I wish I could spare you.”

“It's not your fault, Brother. Anders, can I help at all?” Anders started to shake his head, then stopped to look at the younger mage.

“You know, I think you can. Can you link with me? I want to be thorough, but I haven't had any rest, and could use your strength.” He offered his hand to Bethany, palm up. Bethany laid her hand over his, and soon Hawke could see wisps of light and dancing shadows at the edge of his vision. Anders was still for many long minutes, with his hand resting on Leandra's waxen forehead, his eyes closed in concentration. Finally he sighed, slumping slightly, and Bethany reached out to steady him. There was a look of sadness about them both, but also peace.

“She's truly gone, then?” Hawke asked softly, fearing he was wrong. “That madman didn't trap her somehow?”

“No, Brother. She's gone, and hopefully she and Father, and Carver are together again.” Bethany’s voice faltered slightly at her twin's name, though she'd been the one to mention him. “Now, call Orana back here, and she and I will get Mother prepared for her Rites. Thank you, Anders.” She turned back to the bed, a clear sign of dismissal. Anders' eyebrows rose almost to his hairline, but Hawke just grinned at him and nodded towards the door. Just as he reached the threshold, Isabela's accented tones echoed up from below.

“Listen, Fenris. I know how these nobles do things, and a public funeral is one of those things. They'll never drop it if anything out of tradition is done. Think of how they shunned her for marrying a mage, for her brother's gambling. Useless as tits on a bull, the lot of them. But I can help here.” She held up a satchel. “I can't hide the wounds, we'll need to dress her carefully for that, but I can use my paints and kohls to show her beauty one last time.”

Hawke had a lump in his throat. Isabela was trouble, and took nothing seriously. But she was here, and helping in her way. He met Fenris's searching look, and nodded, and the lanky elf gave Isabela a half bow and gestured for her to continue up the stairs.

“Where's Merrill?” Hawke asked the tawny skinned pirate, knowing the elven mage was often at her side.

Isabela shrugged a bare shoulder, nearly falling out of her bodice. Again. “Kitten? She went off to pick flowers. Something about Falon'Din and a Dread Wolf…” She shook her head, and headed into the bedchamber, embracing Bethany before turning back and closing the door.

Hawke stared at the door briefly, at a loss what to do next. He jumped when Fenris touched his arm lightly.

“Come, Hawke. I've got bread and cheese, and a bit of roast from last night that I found just before that mabari of yours. It's on a tray in the bathing room. Let's get you cleaned up and get some food into you. Then you need to sleep.”

Hawke shook his head in denial. “No, I can't sleep, I have to be there for her.”

“For Bethany? She's busy, she's doing what she can, and you'll be better for the sleep,” the elven warrior coaxed. “Come.”

Hawke allowed himself to be led down the hall, his thoughts getting fuzzy and dreamlike. Maybe this was all a dream? A nightmare. Surely that was it. The two men stepped into the bath chamber, and Sandal greeted them by pointing at the steaming tub happily. “Enchantment!”

Fenris murmured a thank you to the strange young dwarf, and the childlike young man left the room. Fenris nudged the door with a bare foot, and returned to Hawke's side. Hawke stood weaving on his feet, a slight frown on his face, his eyes distant. Those golden eyes snapped to Fenris's green ones suddenly.

“Fenris, why would I dream this? Dreaming of you here in my bath, I know why I'd dream that,” he smirked, reaching down to press his lips lightly to the elf’s. “But why this nightmare? I can't wake up.” Fenris stiffened, and touched his hands gently to Hawke's cheekbones.

“Oh, Hawke… I'm so sorry. This is no dream, nor is it the Fade.” Fenris gently started the remove Hawke's weapons and armour, pausing for a moment as a strangled sob broke free from Hawke's throat.

“Fenris, why can't this be a dream? I was… I was too late. I couldn't save her.” Fenris looked up at his lover, his deft hands never stopping his work to divest Hawke of his filthy, blood-stained armour. Hawke moved like a child's doll, unresponsive, his limbs going where Fenris put them, but no will of their own. “Fenris, I'm a danger. Everyone close to me dies. Bethany will go back to the Circle, but you…”

“No, Hawke. I'll not leave you,” the elf interrupted, his green eyes blazing. He grabbed Hawke by the jaw, and forced his head down so he could look Hawke in the eyes. “If there is a future to be had, I'll walk into it gladly at your side.”

Hawke swiftly bent and pressed his lips to his lover's. The kiss started gently, but soon turned passionate, desperate. Hawke's tongue flicked out to run over Fenris' lip, then darted past when the elf’s lips parted on a quiet moan. Fenris' hands fisted lightly in Hawke's dark hair, pulling a lustful groan from the taller man. They continued to kiss a few moments more, then Fenris reluctantly pulled back.

“Hold that thought, Hawke. Bath first. Then I'll have my way with you,” he murmured, his gravelly voice sending chills down Hawke’s spine.

“Fen…” Hawke whispered. “I just want to forget, just a little while. It hurts too much.”

“Shhh… come, let's get the stink of those demons off you.” Fenris led him to the tub of steaming water, and helped him remove the last of his clothes. As Hawke settled into the tub with a groan, Fenris chuckled and stripped off his own armour, and rolled up his sleeves. He scooped up a cloth and a jar of soap, the slightly spicy scent a reminder of happier days and nights. He slowly scrubbed Hawke's shoulders and back, over his arms, then reached around to slide the cloth slowly up and down Hawke's muscular chest. Hawke hummed contentedly, arching into the deft touch stroking over aching muscles. Fenris gave a gentle kiss to his throat, and passed him the cloth. Hawke grumbled briefly, but took up scrubbing the sweat, blood, and grime from his body. Fenris watched the play of muscles in his arms and shoulders for a moment, then reached for a vial of oil. Quickly slicking his palms, he began to massage Hawke's neck and shoulders. Hawke moaned softly at the touch, and Fenris took a shuddering breath at the sound. It was a little too close to other sounds, on other occasions. Fenris shook his head slightly to dispel his rising lust, and changed the massage to a firmer, less sensual touch. Hawke gave a pained gasp as tense muscles protested, then loosened.

“Dunk your head, love. I'll wash your hair for you,” Fenris offered in a low voice, lips a hairsbreadth from Hawke's earlobe. Hawke shivered slightly, then ducked under the water. He shook his head to loosen the sweat and itching dirt of the last day and night, then sat up again, slicking his hair back with his hands. Fenris watched quietly, his pupils wider, darker than before.

“I'm all yours,” Hawke teased, a glint in his eye for the lithe elf. Fenris merely gave a dark chuckle and bent down to give the man a kiss.

“I'm aware, and grateful for the privilege,” he smirked, eyeing Hawke from his head to the waterline and back, then winked. Hawke huffed a laugh, for the elf's playful side was rarely at the forefront.

Fenris collected more soap, and ran his long fingers though Hawke's hair slowly, massaging at his temples and scalp, earning him a long, deep groan from Hawke. The lyrium on Fenris' fingers glinted in the warm light streaming in from a high window, but Fenris ignored it in favour of plying a whimper from the man before him. Fenris gave a satisfied chuckle at that, and bent to nip at Hawke earlobe, eliciting a startled gasp.

“You seem to be enjoying this,” he murmured, placing a kiss upon Hawke's throat before sliding his tongue gently over the pulse that was beating steadily faster under his ministrations. He felt the flex of muscles and smiled against his lover's throat, but when Hawke's hands came up to grab him, he was out of reach. Fenris raised a sardonic eyebrow, and held up an urn of clean water. “Close your eyes.”

Hawke’s full lips pouted at him, but he tilted his head back and closed his eyes all the same. Fenris careful poured the urn's contents over Hawke's hair, running his fingers through it to chase off the last of the suds. When he was satisfied, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Hawke’s forehead. Hawke smiled softly, eyes still closed.

“Come, Hawke. Time to climb out of there and get dried off. And then you need to sleep.” Hawke muttered a protest, but the warmth of the bath was seeping into his very bones, and his eyelids felt heavy. Fenris stroked a gentle hand down Hawke's cheek, watching as exhaustion slowly took its toll. Fenris crooked a small smile, then, heedless of his own clothes, bent down and hauled Hawke upright by wrapping his arms around the larger man's torso and straightening. Fenris's strength was deceptive, but even so, he grunted slightly at the wet, nearly dead-weight he held. He manoeuvred Hawke to a bench, and sat him down to towel him dry. Hawke barely responded, his eyes dull, with dark fatigue marks circling them. Fenris wrapped him in a new towel, and pulled him to his feet. He slung one of Hawke's arms over his shoulders, and slid an arm around his waist to support him further. They stumbled to Hawke's chambers, and Fenris led him to the bed.

“Sleep,” he murmured softly. He tucked Hawke under the bedspread, and stroked his hair gently until the beleaguered man's breathing evened out. A small frown creased the sleeper's brow when Fenris pulled his hand away, and he patted Hawke's shoulder lightly. “Sleep. I'm here.”

**

He stayed til he was certain Hawke wouldn't wake, and left for his own bath. He bathed quickly, methodically. He didn't want to be away from Hawke any longer than necessary. Toweling dry his hair, he twisted sharply to crack his spine. He grunted softly as the muscles in his back stretched and loosened. As he twisted in the other direction, his gaze fell upon the untouched tray of food.

“Fasta vass!” Fenris cursed. Running a slender hand through his thick white hair, he dressed quickly in a soft green tunic and tan leggings he kept at Hawke's home for comfort, then scooped up the tray and slipped back down the hall into the bedchamber. He set the tray on the desk, then retreated to the hall once again. As he approached Leandra's door, he hesitated, uncertain whether to knock or to leave them be. He was about to turn to hunt down Bodahn, when the door opened just enough for Orana to slip through with the heavy curtains bundled in her arms. She startled slightly to see him so close, but he gave her a gentle smile and held a finger to his lips.

“Hush, girl. I simply wished to let Bethany know her brother is asleep, and likely to remain so for some time.”

Orana nodded. “I will let Mistress Bethany know. She won't be much longer now.”

There was a sudden commotion from below, and Fenris strode to the railing to look down. When he saw Gamlen in the foyer, he allowed his tense muscles to relax.

Gamlen looked up at Fenris, and scowled. “What’re you doing here, elf? Why aren't you out looking for my sister?! Where is my nephew?” Hawke's mabari began to growl at Gamlen's agitated behaviour, laying down again with a huff and a yawn when Gamlen snapped an absent-minded “oh, shut up, dog.”

Fenris bit back a scathing retort, and took a deep breath to calm himself. Gamlen tended to rub him the wrong way, but he was essentially harmless. And clearly worried.

Bethany chose that moment to emerge, looking drawn and frail. Gamlen first looked surprised to see his niece, then the blood drained from his face. “No…” Gamlen took half a step back. “You can't be here. She…” Gamlen wavered dangerously near the fire, and before he'd made a choice to move, Fenris had lyrium shifted to his side to pull him back.

“Mind yourself. They've enough distress without you setting yourself ablaze,” he grated under his breath. “Library, now.”

Fenris led the man stumbling through the door, and poured a stiff drink before thrusting it into his hands. Gamlen tossed it back without hesitation, not seeming to notice the wicked burn of the alcohol. Without a word, Fenris poured another. When that too disappeared in an instant, he pursed his lips and stoppered the bottle.

“Are…” He paused, at a loss for words for a moment. “Are you sure?”

Fenris gave a curt nod. “I'll not tell you, but suffice to say, her suitor was nothing of the sort.”

Gamlen opened his mouth, when a quiet step was heard behind him. He turned, and Bethany stood there. She could see the question in his eyes, and shook her head slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“Come, Uncle. We can say our farewells together,” she offered gently, looping her arm through his, drawing the older man out of the room.

Fenris drew a trembling hand over his face. His own exhaustion was getting the better of him, and he wondered how Sebastian and Anders were faring.

“Bodahn?” he called, knowing the dwarf would keep track of any comings and goings. When the burly little man stuck his head around the corner, Fenris continued. “Any word from Sebastian? And where has Anders disappeared to?”

“Well, I don't rightly know about Master Sebastian, I've not seen him since he brought us the terrible news first thing this morning. As for the healer, he returned to his clinic some time ago. He said he wanted to help those as he could,” Bodahn finished with a sigh.

Fenris nodded, then split his jaw around a yawn. “Forgive me Bodahn, this has been a most trying day.”

“Of course, of course! Now, off you go and get some rest, don’t think I don't know you'll be the one to get Master Hawke to eat, so you'd best sleep now!” he scolded, shooing the lanky elf before him. Fenris' lips twitched in amusement at the small man's antics, but he allowed himself to be chivied up the stairs.

When he reached Hawke’s door, he heard a low groan, and cursed himself for being absent. He quickly entered, and strode to the bed. Hawke was thrashing in his sleep, in the grip of a nightmare. Fenris climbed onto the bed next to his lover, and carefully took the larger man into his arms. Hawke whimpered and fought him for a moment, then seemed to recognise his touch. A barely heard “Fen..?” and then the rogue was burying his whiskered cheek into the elf's neck, shuddering in his sleep.

“I'm here,” Fenris crooned. “Hush now, Garrett. I’m here.” He stroked his slender fingers up and down Hawke's spine until he too fell into a restless sleep.

**

Bethany all but shoved her uncle into the guest room, and told him to sleep. He'd been up all night looking for her mother, and now the shock and grief had taken their toll as well. Once she was certain he wouldn't emerge any time soon, she went in search of Isabela. She found her pirate friend in the kitchen, nursing a mug and picking at the remnants of the roast with a dagger.

“I've seen you use those in a fight, Izzy. I hope you cleaned them well,” Bethany bantered, but her tone was off, her heart clearly not in it. Isabela gave her a half smile for the attempt though.

“Come, sweet thing, there's another mug here. We'll toast your mother and talk of your plans. You still mean to go back?”

Bethany nodded decisively. “Now more than ever.”

Isabela's dark brow creased in puzzlement. “What do you mean by that?”

“Blood magic, Isabela. Outside the Circle, it's the easy choice. It's not as great a risk there, too much at stake..”

Isabela shook her head, not in denial, but certainly arguing the point. “Dear one, you're stronger than you know. I can’t see you ever being that desperate.”

Bethany quirked a smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I have a place there. I'm teaching children. I'll never raise my own there, but I must return,” she asserted, though a small, pained frown creased her brow. Isabela stared at her a moment, then sighed.

“You want children, don't you?”

“What? No! No, of course not! They’re simply not an option in the Circle, I'd never be allowed to keep a child!”

Isabela upended her drink, and eyed her shrewdly. “So you do, but can't in there, and you refuse to live elsewhere, so are ignoring that decision.”

Bethany's breath caught on a small gasp, and Isabela regretted her words. Likely true, but the girl had enough pain for a lifetime. Let her keep the illusions she had left.

“Sorry sweetness, none of my business. Anyway, how're we getting you back in?” the dusky pirate asked. “That damned passage is chancy with just the two of us, and I think we've been abandoned by the rest.”

“It would be my honour and privilege to escort you, lass,” a warm brogue came from the doorway, and Isabela whirled with daggers in hand, to see Sebastian lounging against the doorframe in uncharacteristic leather armour. He raised an aristocratic eyebrow at Isabela, who just rolled her eyes in return. “Before we go, I must leave a note for your brother,” he continued in his soft burr, turning back to Bethany with a gentle smile.

“Oh? Anything I should know?” Bethany asked as she stood gracefully, smoothing her skirts over her slim waist to the swell of her hips. Isabela watched in glee as the handsome prince's eyes tracked the movement, and when he unconsciously licked his lips, she smothered a laugh in a cough. Sebastian's eyes flicked to hers instantly, and a flush spread over his cheeks. He cleared his throat, and pointedly stepped past Isabela to give Bethany a gentlemanly bow. Isabela watched the bend of his broad back and narrow waist with great interest, but he paid her no mind. Bethany's expression remained composed and mildly curious, but something dark and hungry was in her gaze when she met Sebastian's cerulean eyes, and her cheeks turned rosy. His breath caught for a moment, and his hand trembled as he extended it to her in a courtly manner. Isabela watched each interaction with amusement and curiosity.

“Aye, lass,” Sebastian rasped, his brogue thicker, low and warm. “Tis a letter I found, someone was providing that bastard of a mage, Quentin, with forbidden books of magic. Have a care. I know ye must return to the Circle. Still, be cautious.”

Bethany's eyes closed for a moment as she let his voice wash over her, tingling down her spine as it always did. When she looked at him again, her eyes were resolute, but sad.

“You know I must,” she spoke softly, regret in her voice. “I have to…” She broke off, and eyed Isabela, acknowledging the smirk on the pirate's lips. Bethany tilted her head to one side, and gave half a smile to her friend. “Izzy, I seem to have forgotten my bag upstairs. Would you be so kind as to find it for me?” she asked innocently, though the arch glance she skittered towards Sebastian was anything but innocent.

Isabela bit back a laugh, but let a grin fly across her lips. “Certainly, sweetness. Of course, with so many people sleeping, I'll need to take extra care to be quiet, so I may take a while…. Fifteen or twenty minutes?”

Bethany didn’t even attempt to hide the wicked grin that crossed her lips. “Make it half an hour.”

Isabela threw her head back a laughed, a rich, rolling sound. “Good for you sweetness, I knew you had it in you.”

A soft snort came from the prince of Starkhaven. “Aye, and she might again if ye'd just leave!” he muttered, surprising a bubbling laugh out of Bethany at the shock on Isabela's face.

Isabela pointed a scolding finger at her friend. “You have some explaining to do,” she accused as she raked a cheerfully lustful gaze over the muscular man. “Preferably in great detail. My my. In the meantime, why don't you retire to the library while I look for that bag for you? Honestly, it could be anywhere. I may have to enlist Orana, and I meant to ask her about that tea she made. That may take … another half hour?” she suggested with a wink.

Sebastian chuckled darkly, and since they'd made their desire for each other clear, he tossed aside the sham of the devout Chantry Brother to for once openly acknowledge what he had with the younger Hawke. He stepped to her side swiftly and pulled her to him, her body melting against his in pliant surrender.

“An hour then?” he purred, and even Isabela shivered at the dark promise in his voice as he bent to lay a tender kiss against Bethany's throat. “Barely enough time, lass.” His eyes flew to Isabela's, and she saw the command before he spoke. “Go!”

Isabela smirked and gave a jaunty salute, then sauntered from the kitchen and headed for the stairs. She paused halfway, and was rewarded with the unmistakable sound of lips meeting in passion, and just the edge of a moan reached her ears.

“Good for you, sweetness,” she chortled as she continued up the stairs, preparing to distract the elven girl from her duties downstairs.

**

“Seb, please!” Bethany moaned against his throat as his talented tongue traced her pulse and set it racing. His hands skimmed over her sides and came to a rest at her waist, a perfectly innocent placement, if not for the flexing of his fingers and the caress of his thumbs over her hipbones. She shuddered against his solid form, glad he was in leather armour rather than his steel.

“Aye, beloved. We've not enough time. Never enough time,” he repeated, before claiming her lips in a desperate, almost brutal kiss.

Bethany pulled back, though she longed to stay locked against her lover's lips. Sebastian protested softly, but stayed silent when she placed gentle fingers over his kiss-swollen lips.

“Isabela was right, we should retire to the library. And since we have something fairly private to discuss, perhaps the study there?”

Sebastian's brilliant blue eyes darkened with lust, and heedless of who might see, he scooped Bethany over his shoulder as he strode from the kitchen, through the foyer, to the library. Bethany gave a choked laugh as she dangled, but didn't fight the manhandling. Rather she reached down to slide her hands over the curve of his ass as he ascended the stairs in the library, revelling in the flex of muscles as he took each step. The promise of power in the firm body carrying her, in the broad warmth of the hand holding her in place with a firm hand on her ass, his scent filling her nostrils, all combined to coil in her gut like a fire, its heat spreading swiftly. Sebastian reached the door to the study, and held her casually with a single hand while he turned the knob with the other. She squirmed lightly, just to feel his hand tighten on her, and gave a soft whimper when his hand slid down her cleft. Sebastian stepped into the dark room, and kicked the door shut behind them, turning the lock. He set her carefully on her feet, and strode to the window to open the curtains enough to see. He turned, and Bethany stood in that solitary beam of sunlight, lit with her magic as she cast a spell of silence around the room, and he gasped.

“Maker, but you are beautiful, lass,” he murmured. He strode back to her side, and knelt before her, wrapping his arms around legs, just below the swell of her ass, and pressed his face to her lightly curved stomach. “You make me believe anything is possible,” he admitted softly, his smooth voice rough with want and need and something more. “We need to talk.”

Bethany reached down to his silken hair and ran her fingers through his russet locks, ignoring the pomade which kept his thick curls tamed. “Bethy…” he sighed, leaning into her, nearly purring as she ruffled his hair into complete disarray, curls falling over his forehead. Suddenly she fisted her hands in his hair and tilted his head back. She bent swiftly and captured his lips in a searing kiss, running her tongue against the seam of his mouth to beg for admittance. He groaned into the kiss and opened for her, tangling his tongue with hers, rejoicing at the taste of her. She pressed closer and closer, tilting him off balance until he shifted from his knees to sitting, and she sank gracefully onto his lap, straddling his waist to push her core against the heavy erection he was sporting. Sebastian bucked up against her with a groan, and ran his hands down her legs to the hem of her skirts. He tickled gently at the skin on her ankles, then slowly, achingly, slid his palms back up her legs underneath her skirts. She moaned against his mouth as she laid claim to him with passion, raising her hips to grind down against his. He ran his short nails up her calves and then slid them up the outside of her thighs. She trembled at his touch, and stroked her hands over his chest in a caress before shoving him roughly backwards. He fell back onto the plush carpet with a laugh, pulling her down for another scorching kiss. She met his every move, nipping at his lower lip, pulling on it lightly with her teeth as he moaned against her mouth. She raised up on her knees so she was no longer pressed against him, and he whimpered at the loss of contact.

“We'll talk after,” she muttered against his lips, her fingers busy undoing buckles on his armour. He groaned into the next kiss, his fingers deftly joining her to strip him from his armour as quickly as possible. When he pulled himself up to almost sitting to remove the chest and back pieces, and strip himself of his shirt, Bethany reached down and began untying the laces of his breeches. When she reached inside his smallclothes to grasp his swollen cock, he let out a wanton, decadent moan.

“Aye, later,” he agreed hurriedly. “We'll talk later.”

With a sudden thrust and twist of his hips, he flipped their positions so she lay on her back on the carpet, and he pressed against the fork of her legs. Her amber eyes were dark with lust as she stared up at him, and her hands continued to stroke him. Her pace was leisurely, even pausing in the ministrations to play with his balls or to tease the slit.

Sebastian sighed happily into her neck, and slowly pulled on the strings knotting her bodice closed. As the fabric loosened about her torso, she grinned wickedly and took a deep breath, her breasts pushing against the white shift she wore under her robe. He groaned at the sight of her luscious curves so close, and leaned down to scrape at the skin of her throat with his teeth. She whimpered and sighed, and arched her back, then her patience seemed to run out. She pushed him back on his haunches and stood. Her eyes roved over him hungrily where he lounged on the plush carpet, bare chested and his cock standing proudly at attention above his unlaced breeches as he leaned back on his elbows. He watched her like a starving man, and she a last meal, as she slowly slipped the fabric from her shoulders, allowing it to fall from her shoulders to her waist, before giving a little wiggle and pushing the skirts free as well. His breath caught, and his cock twitched at the sight of her gloriously nude before him, save for her smallclothes. He shifted from his casual sprawl to his hands and knees, and crawled towards her like a giant cat, ready to devour her at first chance. She shivered at the predatory gleam in his eyes, but stepped toward him, rather than away.

When he reached her, he bent and laid a gentle kiss on the arch of her foot. Then he proceeded to kiss and lick his way up her calf to the knee, before passing to the other leg and continuing his trek upward. Her breathing quickened when he laid a gentle kiss upon her hipbone, before nuzzling at her soft, delicately rounded stomach, tracing slowly across to reach the jut of her opposite hip. When he scraped his teeth over her hip and flicked his tongue under the edge of her smalls, she gave a keening cry and tangled her hands in his hair, pulling sharply. His brilliant blue eyes stared up at her from beneath hooded lids, his fingers toying slightly at the edge of her smallclothes. She gave a soft gasp when his deft fingers stroked suddenly down her core, and he growled as he noted the fabric was soaked with her arousal. She ground against his hand at the touch, flushed with desire.

“Seb, please!” she moaned brokenly. “I need you!”

He cursed, dropping his head against her hip, shuddering to control himself. “Bethy…”

She fisted her hands in his hair and pulled his head up to meet her heated gaze. He stared up at her, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen from their previous kisses, parting as she drew in a shuddering breath, her pupils blown wide with lust; the very picture of wanton desire.

“Seb, I can't wait. Take me, fill me up, claim me!” she cried, and his iron control snapped. He hooked his fingers under the edge of her smalls and yanked, and when they didn't move fast enough to please him, he fisted the fabric in his hands and ripped them apart. Bethany jerked at the pull, swaying into him and he stood to kiss her passionately. She threw her arms around his neck, and when his hands roved down to cup her ass, she tightened her hold on him and leapt up to wrap her legs around his waist. He stumbled back with one foot to balance, then shifted his arms underneath her legs and ass to support her weight as she ground against him, her folds slick and swollen, her heat practically scalding his cock. She reached down with one hand to tease and stroke him further, though it was hard to say who was more affected.

Sebastian thrust into her hand, then let out a gasp as she shifted her fingers to let him slide against her molten core. He froze, and met her eyes.

“Bethy…” he murmured softly.

She met his gaze, and gave a slow, deliberate nod. Taking that for the permission it was meant to be, Sebastian dropped his head to her clavicle and gave the tender spot a barely-there kiss. He moved across the room, carrying her as though she weighed nothing, and sat her on the edge of the desk. He kissed her gently, almost chastely, and she melted into his embrace. She stroked a slim hand down his velvet-soft length, then pressed the head of his erection against her folds. They began to slowly rock together, his cock sliding back and forth with ease, before lining his leaking head with her entrance. He paused then, but she'd had enough, and canted her hips down sharply. She gasped as the head breached her opening, then gave a throaty moan as he slowly, steadily inched his way into her until he was down to the root. They held like that for a moment, then Bethany tilted her head up and nipped at his earlobe.

“Seb, take me!” she commanded. And he did.

With a cry he began thrusting in and out at a punishing pace, canting his hips to hit her sweet spot with every thrust. She cried out for him as she met every thrust with one of her own. Her hands fisted in his hair, the thick locks curling even more with sweat as he drove into her. His strong arms wrapped around her, lifting her clear off the desk, and he began a long, slow, rolling thrust that quickly drove her over the edge. His blue eyes lit with lust and laughter and pride as she crashed over, coming apart in his arms. He kept up the same steady, rocking rhythm, and soon she was driving herself down onto him again, her hands ranging over his back, nails biting into his shoulders, leaving red welts down his spine.

“You're mine, Bethany Hawke!” he groaned against her neck, moving to lay her on the desk again. One hand pressed to the desk near her shoulder and held his weight as he thrust into her, the other sliding between their bodies to tease and stroke in quick flicks over her swollen nub. She writhed underneath him, her hair damp and unruly with sweat, a throbbing heat building in her womb as her lover combined every trick he knew of her body to bring her to her peak yet again.

Bethany stretched up to captured her lover's lips, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, stealing his breath as he moaned and sucked on her tongue. His hips stuttered, and he clutched her closer as he picked up the pace of his thrusts and his fingers, desperate to make her come again before he found his own release. The fluttering of her walls around him told her she was close, and he kissed his way down her throat, tasting the salt of her skin and something simply her. His cock twitched hard in her depths, and he could feel the ache pooling in his gut.

Her hands stroked through his hair lovingly, and she traced the shell of his ear with her tongue, before she purred softly, “Seb, mark me. Give me that to remember when I'm caged inside again. Something to trace with my fingers when I think of you in my lonely bed, with nothing to fill me but the memories of your cock and your seed.” She traced kisses down his neck, and nipped and sucked a bruise over his collarbone. He groaned against her throat, though he retaining enough sense to drop his mouth to her breast to leave a mark. As he thrust into her again, he bit her high on her breast, sucking a bruise over the bite, then laving the spot with his tongue. She cried out his name as her walls clenched around his cock, raking her nails down his back as she came.

“Andraste's flaming arse!” he cursed as her depths clenched his cock tightly, unable to even move as she milked him dry.

Long minutes later, they stirred together, hands stroking with reverence rather than passion now. Sebastian raised his head from her bosom, and she stroked a tender hand down his cheek, wiping away a tear with her thumb.

“Beloved, I do not know if I can do this,” he whispered, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I lost you just after I'd found you, I cannot lose you again.” His brogue was heavy, his grief nearly choking him.

“Sebastian, I must return. For one, my phylactery is still there. Meredith is a monster, I'd be hunted like a wild animal if we leave it. It has to be destroyed if we've any hope of being free.” He opened his mouth to speak, and she laid a finger over his lips. “Secondly, I've almost found where they're keep-“ She was interrupted by the movement of the doorknob, though the spell she'd cast earlier kept the rattle from reaching them. Their eyes met and she stifled a giggle. “I hope that's Isabela. Not that I don't want my brother to know about us, but the timing could be better.”

She quickly dispelled the silence, and they both heard Isabela’s muttering through the thick wooden door. “-this instant, so help me, I'll fetch Fenris to break down the door! We need to get you out of here and back before you're missed!”

Bethany rolled her eyes roguishly, and stretched languorously. Sebastian gave a low, very male chuckle of self-satisfaction as he watched her. She smacked a palm against his chest, and he simply grinned at her, cerulean eyes sparkling with mischief as he stood, legs wobbling slightly. He bent and scooped up her shift and robe, though her smalls were torn beyond hope of redemption. He handed her the clothes, and tucked himself back into his breeches. He winked at Bethany, then strode to the door with his undone laces held tight, her marks at his collarbone and down his back. She choked back a laugh and pulled the shift on, waiting for the spectacle.

“Bethany Hawke, Orana is planning on waking your brother within the next ten minutes, you had better finish shagging… oh…” her voice fell silent as Sebastian unlocked the door and pulled it open. She stared at him, with his hair disheveled and curling on his brow, his grin changing to a smirk as her eyes roved over his body as he deliberately bowed low. He stayed that way for a moment, and heard Bethany chime in from him.

“Admiring my handiwork, Izzy?” she asked with a laugh as her prince straightened and turned to fetch his tunic, offering his back to Isabela's astonished gaze.

Isabela stepped into the study and closed the door, noting the armour in one spot, his tunic in another, Bethany in a shift and holding her robe, and… her eyes fell on a scrap of torn fabric, and her eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Well, well. If I'd known he'd be like that, I'd have set my cap for him a little more seriously over the years.”

Sebastian gave her a baleful glare, but Bethany simply looked smug. “Sorry to disappoint you, Izzy, but he's already been _mine_ for years.” Sebastian flashed his lover a grin, and pulled his tunic over his head with only a slight wince as the fabric fell against the scratches down his back. Bethany gave a low chuckle as she watched him with satisfaction.

“Should I apologise?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Her eyes warmed as he strode to her and kissed her tenderly, tracing his finger tips lightly over her breast, where the shift hid his mark. She hissed lightly, but her gaze was loving as he replied softly “Should I?”

Isabela watching them in bemusement for another moment, then shook her head. “Enough, you two. Not that I won't be picturing all of this in reverse later, but it's time for Bethany's clothes to go ON. If you plan to keep this a secret much longer, you've got to get out of here. There is NO hiding what you've been up to, seeing the state you're both in.” She stepped forward and took Bethany's robe from her, and shook it out sharply to loosen the worst of the creases. She nodded at her friend to approach, and Bethany slid off the desk with a slight wince. Her knees almost buckled, and Sebastian grinned at her as he put a hand under her elbow.

“Easy, lass,” he murmured into her hair, turning with her as he slid an arm about her waist to steady her.

Isabela eyed her a moment, then stooped and picked up Bethany's torn undergarments. She passed them over, and jerked her chin down. “You won't wear those out of here, but they'll do in a pinch to clean up.”

Bethany blushed at that, though at nothing else, and snatched what remained of her smallclothes from the pirate. Sebastian took the rag from her, and dropped to his knees before her. He gently nudged her back until her bottom rested on the edge, and nudged her knees apart. The shift covered the essentials, but Bethany's breathing hitched at the glorious sight of her lover kneeling before her. But when she met his eyes, her heart stuttered, and her eyes were luminous at the tenderness and love in his gaze. He never looked away from her face as he carefully removed the remnants of their passion. When he was done, he stood again, and took both her hands in his, having vanished the soiled cloth with a flick of his wrist. They stood facing each other, hands clasped between them, until Isabela cleared her throat. The lovers startled slightly, and turned to see Isabela watching them with a slightly embarrassed flush on her cheeks.

“You didn't tell me you were in love, sweetness,” she said lightly, holding out the robe once more. Bethany took her robe with an almost shy smile, and pulled it over her head. As she shook her skirts into place, Isabela shoved Sebastian out of the way with a bump of her hip. “Let me get the laces. Bad enough I'll be seeing those glances all the way through the passage back, but if you try to lace her up you'll stand here making eyes at each other until the Templars come knocking. And since this is her brother's home, they WOULD come here.” Isabela laced Bethany's bodice deftly from top to bottom, tying it off at her waist.

Bethany grinned at Sebastian over Isabela's head, her scolding covering her earlier embarrassment. Bethany winked at her lover, and asked innocently “How is Merrill these days?”

Isabela's hands froze for a second before she knotted the last tie. “I need a new nickname for you, sweetness doesn't cover the trouble you are,” she muttered. “Come on, it's time to go. We'll collect Anders below and he can accompany us to avoid any trouble.”

“Anders? Why not shout it from the rooftops! The man has zero discretion,” Bethany groused.

“Lass, it'll be alright,” Sebastian reassured her. “But Isabela has the right of it, we must go, and quickly.”

Bethany nodded, swallowing past a lump in her throat. “Seb…” He nodded, and pulled her into his arms. He stroked her hair and murmured softly as she trembled in his embrace, knowing this would be the last time she felt safe for a long while. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, and smiled softly at her.

“Ye can do this lass, I have faith in ye.”

She nodded sharply, and turned to their friend. “Did you find my bag? I did actually bring one.”

“Of course, I spotted it in the first five minutes I was up there. I had a time moving it without Orana seeing it so she'd keep looking with me,” she grinned cheekily, and Bethany threw her head back and laughed.

“Good, I've got a comb, and I need one desperately.” She looked over at Sebastian's unruly curls, and shook her head. “You've no hope, my love.”

He shrugged at he scooped up his leather armour. “It matters not. I arrived unseen, we leave through the basement door, it's as good a disguise as any.”

Bethany moved to hold his armour in place as he snapped the buckles into place. He got the first couple done, the nudged her toward Isabela, who had stepped out of the study to fetch the bag. Bethany wrinkled her nose at him, but stepped away.

As she pulled her comb through her dark locks, she hummed a quiet tune. Isabela smiled sadly, for she'd heard Leandra hum the same tune when they'd all been visiting late at night.

Once her hair was tidied, she took a deep breath. “I'm ready.”

**

Anders was not in his clinic. Sebastian fumed and paced, unwilling to risk Bethany's safety. Bethany and Isabela watched him in amusement. The Circle, surrounded by Templars, was hardly safer, and this is where they were sending her alone. The women shared a look at his antics, then Bethany walked to her lover's side.

“Seb, we'll be fine. We came through a few hours ago, with Anders and Fenris. Darktown knows the drill. It'll be safe for a day or two before someone's greed overcomes their self-preservation,” she soothed.

He whirled on her angrily, his aristocratic features twisted in a furious mask. “Or, more likely, the scavengers saw us enter and leave, and have poured into the passage to pick up what scraps they may!” he snarled. Isabela's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline to hear the normally level-headed rogue shout at them, but Bethany simply waited him out, her hands on her hips.

“Shall we go fetch Fenris then, and have my brother come along? Or interrupt Aveline with the Viscount? Or perhaps we should search out Donnic, he was headed to see Meredith after all,” she offered the last sarcastically, and Sebastian glared down at her, his hands clenched into fists on his hips, unconsciously mirroring the irritated mage before him.

“Am I interrupting something?” came a smooth, urbane voice from the stairs before the clinic. Anders smirked at the trio, his arms loaded with supplies for his clinic. Isabela snorted and shook her head, sauntering to assist the healer with his parcels.

“They were just having a spirited discussion while we waited for you. Time for Bethany to get back.”

“Still haven't gotten your phylactery, huh? Or are you settling in, teaching the children that imprisonment isn't so bad,” he shot over his shoulder sarcastically as he unlocked the heavy doors to his clinic. With his back to her, he missed her flinch and Sebastian's glare, though Isabela caught both and narrowed her eyes in thought.

“Oh, it's not so bad,” Bethany replied airily, waving a hand in dismissal. “It beats running from town to village to farm, never a moment's peace in case the widow down the lane calls the Templars. I've no interest in blood magic, so what have I to fear? It's not like they make a mage Tranquil for no reason,” she added bitingly, knowing she was simply riling up the apostate.

Isabela grabbed Bethany's arm above the elbow, looking at though she were simply getting her attention, but the surreptitious squeeze she gave was a warning.

“Come sweetness, quit needling him. We need him to get you back safely so you CAN get what belongs to you.” She met her friend's eyes steadily as she spoke, though her tone remained light. “After all, something so precious could hardly be left in such hands.”

Bethany blanched, and Sebastian whipped around to glare at Isabela in warning, all ignoring the healer, who luckily had his back to them as he shoved bundles of bandages. The healer snorted. “Precious? I'd say a phylactery is dangerous. Better to simply destroy it when you find them.”

Bethany pulled her arm free from her friend's grasp, and shook her head warningly before stepping toward the other mage. “Well, of course, I would enjoy certain freedoms, but that's neither here nor there. But I must return, or the Templars will descend on my brother, and if your interference causes that, Justice will not save you from me.”

Anders straightened his back and glared at the slim brunette mage, but saw the resolve in her eyes. He sighed and shook his head. “I've no interest in endangering your brother. I don’t agree with all of his choices, but in general he is a voice of reason for mages. Probably because of you. Fine. You want back in? We'll get you back in. At least we saw that Alrik is dead and gone.”

Sebastian cursed and leapt to Bethany's side, catching her about the waist as she swayed. “Alrik…? You killed him?” she whispered. “He's truly gone?”

Anders looked at her white face and stepped forward to put a gentle hand on her shoulder, the healer in him taking over. “Dead and burned. Aveline could confirm it for you, were she here. He'll never hurt another mage.”

Bethany drew a shuddering breath, and nodded sharply. “I knew he was gone, but the fear that he could return...” She glanced between the two men, and she saw the anger in Anders’ face, and the horrified distress on her lover's. “No, he never touched me,” she told them softly, and winced at the tightened grip on her waist from Sebastian's hand. He breathed a low apology and released her with a small bow, returning to the vaguely formal persona he'd adopted over the years. “But I had friends disappear, then return violated, pregnant. None dared accuse him, but every woman knew to keep away from his gaze.”

Anders fumed at the familiar story, trying to contain his anger. With no target, it wouldn't do to have Justice make an appearance. And yet… and yet he had to ask. “And the babes?” he asked softly, his eyes full of compassion for those unknown mothers. He'd been in the Circle. He knew what they did in Ferelden. He didn't know what they did in the Gallows.

She flinched. She couldn't help it. Sebastian remained stoic at her side, but she saw the ripple of muscle in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “I don't know. Orsino keeps records. But every child born in the Circle is taken from the mother, mostly sight unseen.” She swallowed past a lump in her throat. “Sometimes the attendants talk, letting slip details. A birthmark, a remark about it being a girl, the feeling that the babe will have dark hair with curls. But nothing more. Or so I've been told,” she finished softly.

Isabela stepped forward, and laid a casual hand to Bethany's lower back. “Come on. We've wasted enough time.” And the pirate steered her friend out of the clinic, not looking to see if the men were following, each lost in his own thoughts.

**

The trip back to the Gallows was uneventful, though Bethany was far too subdued for Isabela's liking. Losing her mother, the argument with Anders and all it revealed to the astute pirate, knowing what Bethany returned to, it seemed an impossible task. Finally Isabela took Bethany's hand and pulled her aside, and waved the men off.

“Girl talk. Back off, you louts.” Anders rolled his eyes and stepped away to investigate a strange mushroom, but Sebastian frowned, and would have stepped closer, but Bethany gave him a wan smile and shooed him as well.

“What is it, Izzy?” Bethany asked dully, her usual spirit absent.

Isabela squeezed her hand until Bethany lifted haunted eyes to her friend's concerned face.

“Anything you need, you write me. I can teach you a cipher. And I mean it. ANYTHING. Especially when you find what you're looking for,” she said, with a gentle touch to Bethany's lower stomach. The mage caught her breath in a pained gasp, and suddenly Isabela found herself in a choking embrace as Bethany let a few tears fall on her friend's shoulder.

“How did you know?” she whispered. Isabela merely patted her cheek, and gave a wry smile.

“I wasn't sure until just now.”

Bethany rolled her eyes at her friend. “Andraste's arse, Izzy. You nearly gave us heart attacks back at the clinic with your prying, but you weren't sure?”

“Us?” Isabela grinned, and cast an eye down the tunnel toward Sebastian's impatient form. “So I was right about that too?”

“Sonofabitch… yes, alright? I was taken to the Circle with child. You CANNOT tell my brother. He would do anything for family, and until we know where she was taken, we cannot move. I love my brother, but he tends to jump in without looking. Please, don't breathe a word!” Isabela hesitated, biting her lip. “Please, Izzy. As soon as I find out where she was taken, I'll send word. I promise.”

“Oh, alright sweetness. Now let's get you back, you've truly been gone far too long.” Isabela strode off to fetch Anders, and Bethany joined Sebastian, tugging him around the next bend. She fisted her hands in his hair and pulled him down for a toe-curling kiss.

“She knows, she'll stay quiet,” she murmured as she stepped back, leaving her lover gaping like a fish as he tried to slow his pulse.

“Sebastian, are you alright?” Isabela called as she and Anders rounded the bend. Her eyes flicked from his mouth, to his hair, to Bethany's smile, and she gave a wicked chuckle. “You look like you've seen a ghost!”

Bethany joined in the laughter, and whispered as loudly as possible, “He was watching the path ahead, I think I startled him!”

Anders chuckled behind them as Sebastian gave Bethany a mock-glare. “Aye, I've had enough frights today, lass. Come, we'd best be on our way.” Sebastian gestured for the others to follow, but at the next fork, gave Anders the lead. “You've traveled this path more than I, I'd not have us turned around.”

Anders shrugged and took the lead, with Isabela at his side with her daggers drawn. Sebastian gave a courtly bow to Bethany, and waved her forward. As she stepped past him, he moved into her space for a heartbeat.

“After you, my love,” he rasped against her hair, and stroked a loving hand down her spine. She shivered at his touch, and leaned back, just for an instant, before striding forward again with determination.

She would find their child. She wouldn’t accept anything else.

**

  
Fenris woke first, as usual. His years as a slave and then a fugitive had left him with the reflex of instantly waking, which was quite irritating when he was in his lover's bed, held close and surrounded by the scent of Hawke. He wore one of Hawke's sleep shirts, the silken fabric soothing on his tattoos. His lover was curled against his back, an arm around his waist, pulling him close. Hawke's hand roved over his stomach slowly, gently arousing him with his sensual touch. Hawke's lips traced delicately over the nape of his neck, and there was something warm and firm pressing insistently against his bare ass. Fenris let out a low chuckle that turned to a gasp when Hawke's mouth moved to his sensitive earlobe. Hawke’s laugh was a low rumble, vibrating the larger man's chest against his back. Fenris twisted in his arms, the shirt riding up so by the time they were face to face, only Hawke's pants separated them as they ground against each other. Their lips met in a hungry kiss, Hawke’s hands clutching at Fenris' shoulders, Fenris' tangled in Hawke's thick hair. Hawke moaned softly, and kissed his way to the elf's throat, nipping and sucking up the sharp edge of his jaw to his earlobe. Fenris hissed sharply, his hips driving against his lover's involuntarily as Hawke toyed with him, tonguing his way up to the point of Fenris’ ear, the elf crying out as Hawke nibbled on the tip.

Hawke rolled onto his back, pulling Fenris to straddle his hips, sliding his hands lightly up his muscled thighs to rest on his narrow hips. Fenris smirked down at his lover, enjoying the flush that appeared despite the beard concealing Hawke's features. He ground down against the throbbing cock underneath him, rolling his hips back sharply to thrust forward to slide their lengths together. Hawke moaned again, his cock throbbing.

Fenris leaned down to murmur in Hawke's ear, “You're close already, aren't you? Ready to spill over, and I've barely touched you. Shall I put my hands on you, Hawke?” His lips curved in crooked smile, and he leaned down to rub his smooth cheek against Hawke's jaw, enjoying the sting of his beard. “Shall I take you apart? Such the leader, always in control. What would the nobles here in Hightown say to see you undone by an elf, a former slave, at that? What would they say to know that you ride me, impaled on my shaft, the way you whine and beg?” Fenris' grin was feral as Hawke mewled and writhed underneath him, thrusting his cock up against Fenris' in uncontrolled passion, chasing his release. Fenris grabbed Hawke's wrists and pinned them to the bed above his pillow, and breathed softly into his ear. “The way you beg me to fuck you?”

Hawke's head flew back in a silent cry, his back arching off the bed as he came, soaking his thin pants. Fenris nuzzled Hawke's cheek and neck, laying gentle kisses on his throat as he quivered. Only when Hawke's shaking had subsided did Fenris release his wrists. Fenris bent to tenderly kiss his lover, but a knock at the door froze him a hair away. His tattoos pulsed, wary, but Orana's voice through the door caused him to relax.

“Master Hawke? I'm so sorry, but there's an urgent letter…”

Fenris rolled off the bed, and strode quickly to the door. Opening it a crack, he took the letter from the blushing girl with a nod, and closed the door again. As he turned, he came face to face with his naked lover, who crowded him gently against the door, before dropping to his knees. Hawke smirked up at Fenris with a devilish twinkle in his eyes, and grasping the elf by his hips, swallowed his aching shaft down to the root. Fenris' head fell back against the door with a thunk, a hand fisting in Hawke's thick hair, not pushing or pulling, simply holding his lover as he could. Hawke hummed and sucked, hollowing his cheeks, and Fenris bucked with a groan. Hawke purred his approval, and Fenris' control shattered, and he began fucking into his lover's mouth with abandon. Hawke relaxed his jaw, simply taking what the elf gave him, swallowing around the head when it hit his throat. Above him, Fenris' eyes were tightly shut, his hand pulling Hawke's head sharply forward and back as he thrust. His other hand was fisted in his own hair, the sting the only thing grounding him, his head back to expose his throat as he gasped and cursed. Fenris's chest heaved under the borrowed shirt, his breath coming in pants, his tattoos flaring in time with his pulse. Hawke reached a hand between his lover's legs, caressing over his balls before pressing firmly to the sweet spot before his tightly furled pucker, and Fenris cried out his name with a guttural groan, pulling Hawke's head away sharply to spray his seed over his lover's lips and tongue. Hawke licked his lips with a satisfied smile, and chuckled darkly at the speechless elf collapsed against the door behind him. He nuzzled at Fenris' softening cock, and the elf gave a low moan, petting Hawke gently. His green eyes stared down at gold, and a soft smile spread across his lips.

“Festis bei umo canavarum, amatus,” he murmured tenderly.

Hawke stood, and laid a gentle hand on his tattooed warrior's cheek. “I love you, too.” He looked about then, and chuckled at the crumpled letter forgotten in Fenris' grasp. “May I see that?” he asked drolly, grinning in glee as Fenris actually blushed under his olive skin.

Fenris thrust the crushed paper at his lover, and stepped around him to hunt for his clothes. He got dressed quickly, donning his armour, knowing anything referred to as urgent had odds to be dangerous as well. “And so?”

“Duty calls, the Viscount wishes to see me. Coming along for the fun?” Hawke teased as he armed and armoured himself, and Fenris simply smirked.

“I enjoy following you,” he replied drily.

They strode from the room, and Hawke paused before Leandra's door, placing his palm to the door. “Rest, Mother. We'll say farewell tonight.”

But they didn’t. That night, the Qunari attacked.

**

Bethany dedicated everything to getting closer to Orsino. If only he trusted her, she could find where her daughter had been sent. She taught classes of younglings, and if she stared a little longer at a few of the youngest, with a wistful expression, well, it was understood. She made herself indispensable, on hand whenever Orsino returned from a meeting with Meredith, with a sympathetic ear to the abuses she heaped upon them. She cautiously remarked that at least the women were free of Alrik's predations, and Orsino had the grace to look guilty. She fumed silently. He'd known. In a moment of weakness, he admitted the children were often kept close, on Meredith's orders. They were to be a controlling tool, the threat against their safety another indicator of the Knight Commander’s continued descent into madness. But which child? Was hers here, or gone? She searched desperately, then found the tomes concealed in his office. She opened the first, and discovered it to be a journal, the script tight and crabbed. A loose slip of paper fluttered to the floor, and she pocketed it absently, her eyes caught by the words she was slowly deciphering.

**

Bethany sat on the cold floor, staring in horror at the tomes in her lap. She'd skimmed through them, but the taint of evil clung to the very binding. She felt sick, and the horror of her mother's fate three years earlier rose up to throttle her. How had Orsino gotten these journals? The signature was clear, Quentin. She knew that name, and her rage nearly choked her before she fought it down. She flipped through again, looking for a clue, when something caught her eye.

BLOOD TO BLOOD it read. Her mind stuttered, hesitating to go further, knowing the dangers and temptations of blood magic. But her curiosity got the better of her. She read further, and her excitement grew. This was it. This was how to find her daughter! Like to like, their blood had once been the same, Bethany could use her own blood to track her child. There was no bargain, no demons, nothing but their bond. She had to get word to Sebastian! She tapped her fingers on her chin restlessly, uncertain how to proceed. Eventually she stood, returning the books to their hiding place, and slipped from his office to head to the kitchen for a late lunch. She was permitted to come and go, as all knew she was generally fetching for the First Enchanter as well.

As she found a spot to sit in the courtyard, she spotted a prematurely balding mage a few years her senior. What was his name? Emile? She smiled to herself, and moved just a touch closer, and began to reminisce about the freedom she'd had, and the fun of a place called The Hanged Man, and the beauty of her friend Isabela. She watched as the awkward mage practically salivated, and shrugged an apology to her friend in her mind. She made certain to mention the tavern girls as well, and mused that she wished she'd had a chance to thank Isabela for her help in finding her lost bauble. A little later she commented innocently on the guard rotation, and laughed that it was almost as though one could slip out for a night of fun, if one had the coin, and felt it worth the risk. She stood and said her farewells, striding from the courtyard with purpose. She supposed she had been laying it on thick, but Emile was an idiot.

**

“Isabela, eh? I'd heard of your beauty, but it is your fire that makes you such a temptation, is it not?” Emile slurred, barely noticing the glare she leveled at him.

“Hawke, let me kill him,” she muttered.

Hawke smirked at her, and asked jokingly, “Are you sure you don't want to let him take a stab at you?” He laughed and danced a few steps backwards when she flicked a knife at his feet. Fenris rolled his eyes and handed her back the blade.

“What do we do with him, Hawke?” the warrior asked, his gravelly tones showing his irritation at being near a mage.

Emile's head wove on his spindly neck, and he blinked blearily up at Hawke. “Amber-gold eyes, like her…” he muttered.

Hawke stared down at the man in shock, then flicked a glance to his companions. Isabela nodded, and sat at the table across from the drunken mage, suddenly engaged and curious.

“Oh? Her who?” she asked coyly. “Don't you know it's bad form to discuss one woman when flirting with another?”

Emile's eyes widened as Isabela leaned forward to emphasise the deep V of her generous…attributes, and his jaw dropped, showing crooked teeth. “But she said you were a friend, there is no harm, is there?” he demanded shrilly.

Hawke tensed, but Fenris grasped his arm, and Isabela waved them off. Fenris all but dragged Hawke away, whispering to him urgently not to interfere.

“Of course I'm her friend!” Isabela exclaimed. “It's been such a long time since I saw her though. It's too bad, we always had such fun.”

“She wanted to thank you,” Emile muttered, nearly falling face-first onto the table. “For your help finding her bauble,” he yawn.

“It was my pleasure, I wasn’t certain her search would be successful.” Isabela's eyes widened, and she beckoned one of the tavern girls. “Take care of my friend here,” she ordered, dropping a handful of coin. The girl looked at Emile in distaste.

“Really, Isabela?” she pouted.

“Oh shut it, it's on my tab, and he won't last long enough to be that unpleasant.”

“Ugh, fine. But you're paying for a room, too. He's likely to pass out, and I'm not havin’ him fall on me in the bloody alley,” the girl groused.

Isabela strode off, hips swaying. “Don't worry about it.” She quickly climbed the stairs, and spotted Fenris coming out of Varric's room with a few empty pints. “He'll keep sending you for those as long as you keep forgetting to pay him those five sovereigns, you know.”

He grumbled under his breath, and headed for the stairs, Isabela stepped into his path. “Tell you what, I'll fill those, but I need a favour.”

The elf rolled his eyes. “I'm not falling for that again, Isabela.”

She grinned cheekily. “Not what I meant. I just need to talk to Sebastian. He's been avoiding me for a year, and it's important. He'll talk to you though.”

Fenris scowled at the pirate. “He's changed. He's found comfort in the Chantry for whatever it is that plagues him. You'd do well to leave him alone.”

Isabela stuck her fists on her hips, and glared back at the elf. “Now listen here, when I say it's important, I do mean life and death. This is no joke, or trick.” Fenris looked unconvinced, and Isabela stamped her foot. “Listen to me, you idiot. You get him a message. Tell him it's time, and if he wants to see her again, he'll get that tight ass of his moving!”

Fenris rolled his eyes, and demanded “See who?!”

“Maker save me from fools. His lover, you ass. Now please, tell him!” Isabela all but shoved him towards the stairs as the elf's mind raced to catch up.

“His… he's never mentioned…”

“Would you tell everyone about Hawke if you lost him? Or would you close yourself in that derelict mansion of yours?”

He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. Isabela simply arched an eyebrow at him, and he shook his head. “Fine, I'll carry your message. Tell Hawke I'll be back shortly.”

**  
Fenris moved quickly and quietly through the streets of Kirkwall, his reputation as the Champion's brutal right hand leaving him mainly unmolested, his fierce scowl and the sword that glinted with more than reflected lamplight deterring any others who thought a lone elf an easy mark. He arrived at the Chantry unseen, and entered through a small door that led to the lower levels. He wove his way through halls of storage rooms and larders, noting absently extra barrels here and there, supplies not yet divided and put away.

He made his way to the Chantry proper, and found Sebastian kneeling before a statue of Andraste in a small alcove. Sebastian had indeed changed in the years Fenris had known him, becoming more devout, and yet more brittle as well. Fenris approached cautiously, for he had no wish to test the rogue's reflexes.

“Ye can stop sneaking about, Fenris. What brings ye here?”

“Honestly, I'm not completely sure,” the elf shrugged. “I'm here at Isabela's behest, and I'm uncertain whether she was serious or having a fine jest at my expense.” Fenris' sharp eyes did not miss the way Sebastian’s shoulders and back tensed, and the muscle in his jaw jumped. “She was right about one thing, you HAVE been avoiding her, haven't you?”

“Aye,” the prince muttered. Suddenly he sprang up, and started pacing, unable to stand still, the fact of NOT moving driving him to distraction. “So, what has she concocted this time?” he demanded, glaring at his friend.

Fenris was never one to back down from a confrontation, and just raised a sardonic eyebrow, a look he'd likely picked up from Hawke. Sebastian felt a pang in his chest, for both siblings had used that expression, and he feared to never see it on his love's face again. He stared at the elf, his hands clenching and unclenching in agitation. Fenris took it all in, then lowered his voice.

“I know not what she was told by a drunken mage this night, but she told me to tell you it is time. That if you wish to see your lover again, you will,” and here he gave a crooked grin, “get your ass moving.”

Sebastian's eyes lit up, his whole countenance changing from one of impotent despair to a hopeful yearning in a heartbeat. He reached for Fenris, grasping his shoulders and staring at him.

“Truly? She's been found? I'd all but given up hope that she'd find her…” he all but whispered, his hands clenching on his friend's shoulders until the elf winced and patted one of his hands to draw his attention. Sebastian startled, and let go of Fenris as though he'd been burned. “Forgive me, my friend, please. Ye have brought me the news I've waited years to hear, I thought it would never happen!”

“How long has Isabela been looking for your lover?” Fenris asked softly, but Sebastian gave him a puzzled glance.

“I've always known where she was. Tis… another matter.” Sebastian shook his head. “I've no time to waste, where is Isabela?”

“At the Hanged Man. She didn't think you'd speak to her, so sent me.”

“Aye, she might have been right, at that. She's tried to cheer me over the last three years, but I fear I shut her out. The pain of every hope dashed… Come, let us move quickly then.”

Sebastian headed quickly for the stairs leading downward, moving with familiarity through the dim light. He turned down a hall and arrived at a small bedroom, barely more than a monk’s cell. He quickly donned his armour and scooped up his bow, as well as shoving an assortment of daggers into concealment about his person. Fenris watched him do it, and still lost track of a couple. Sebastian looked about for a moment, then snatched up a plume and paper, and scrawled a quick note. He ran his fingers through his thick hair, disheveling it and releasing his curls as he frowned as he glanced around the small chamber. Snapping his fingers he knelt and reached under the bed, pulling out a fair sized coin purse. He tossed it to Fenris, who caught it in surprise.

“If all goes well, I'll need that. If I fall, and she lives, she’ll need it like never before. Keep it safe for me, would ye?”  
Without waiting for an answer, Sebastian scooped up a letter opener from the small table, and gestured to the door. Fenris stepped out into the hall, and the prince closed the door firmly, as though for the last time. Flipping the letter opener in his hand, he stabbed the note to the door. Fenris snorted, and Sebastian shrugged.

“I've no time for further explanations, and I've donated much over the years, a notch on the door no one will see is the least of my worries.” With that he strode down the hall, dodging barrels and crates, and occasionally muttering about the clutter. He rounded a corner quickly, and let out a scorching oath as he stumbled over a barrel. “Bluidy Andraste's great flaming arse! What are these sodding barrels doing everywhere?!”

Fenris merely shrugged, and let his friend take the lead again. They left the Chantry behind without a backward glance, and made their way through the dark streets to Lowtown, and the Hanged Man.

**

Bethany paced her small room, the night's confinement driving her mad. Meredith had imposed restrictions within the Gallows itself, not simply within Kirkwall’s walls. No more venturing to the library to read when one was restless, not without risk of being caught. She waited until all sound faded, then peeked out into the corridor. She slipped out, moving as silently as possible, and crept to the kitchen. If this was to work, she'd need a knife, and Meredith had decreed mages couldn't have those either, for the risk of blood magic. Bethany smiled bitterly, knowing she was proving the point, but also knew she'd bargain with no demon, no matter what. She filched a small knife, checking its edge before retreating to her room. No sense in trying the spell now, she'd need to be free to roam to follow the trail of the magic back to her daughter. And that certainly wasn’t possible now.

She lifted a loose bit of floor, and tucked the knife away for the morning.

**

Sebastian toyed with the mug Isabela handed him, but didn't drink. He wanted his wits about him. Isabela had met him with a level look, no hint of her usual coquettishness, and Sebastian had lowered his head in a brief nod of acknowledgement. He'd been an ass, they both knew it, now they could move on.

Isabela relayed the rambling information she'd gotten from the mage Emile, sparse though it was. Sebastian would have leapt to question the man himself, but Isabela let him know the fool was currently unending his stomach into a chamber pot. He wasn't going anywhere.

Fenris clapped a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, then disappeared to look for Hawke. Isabela challenged Sebastian to a game of darts. She won, and collected her sovereigns, though she refrained from gloating. She knew Sebastian was walking a razor's edge.

Isabela eventually nodded at one of the serving wenches, and motioned for Sebastian to follow. They ascended to the rear of the tavern, and found Emile huddled on the floor with his face over a basin, though the worst seemed to have stopped.

“Hello again Emile, enjoying yourself?” Isabela asked cheerfully, snorting at the pitiful mage whimpered and ducked his head.

“What do you want, evil woman?” he asked sourly.

“Evil woman? I am heartbroken, what happened to my beauty and fire?” she gasped, feigning insult. Emile simply held his head and moaned.

“I left to know the touch of a woman, instead I am fed cheap wine and pass out. I'd never have come here if not for you!”

“How exactly is this my fault?” she demanded, laying a soothing hand on Sebastian’s arm, restraining an outburst.

“She told me to find you… or.. she mentioned your name. I think.” Emile finally looked up, his lank hair hanging over his pale face, his eyes bloodshot. He attempted a glare at Isabela, then glanced at Sebastian and jumped. “Why do I know everyone's eyes in this Maker-forsaken tavern? First the gold earlier, and now the ocean blue?”

Isabela shared a shocked glance with Sebastian, who crouched and asked carefully, “What do you mean by gold eyes? Who do you know with eyes like that?”

“A man, earlier tonight. She knows, she was there,” he waved a hand at Isabela. Sebastian's pulse pounded in his ears. Hawke.

“And you know someone with eyes like his?”

“Orsino's pet, she has eyes like that. She told me this tavern was fun, that she used to drink here before she came to the Circle.”

Sebastian swallowed, and tried to ask his next question, but the words caught in his throat. Isabela came to his rescue.

“And his eyes?” she pointed at Sebastian's face, drawing Emile's attention back. “You said you knew his eyes? How?”

Emile shook his head, uncertain. “I was mistaken, it must have been a trick of the light.”

Sebastian surged forward and grabbed the scrawny man by his shirt, and lifted him to his feet.

“Who. Tell me, or ye’ll face dire consequences.” Emile whimpered, and the sudden sour odour of piss was overwhelming. Sebastian's lip curled in distaste, but he didn't release the man. “Tell me,” he ordered again, giving the mage a shake.

“It's no one,” Emile insisted, desperate. “No one important, just a child in the Gallows, always underfoot. She has eyes the colour of yours. But the shape, not at all the same, what does it matter?!”

Sebastian carefully set Emile down, and brushed the wrinkles from the man's lapel before pinning him with an azure gaze. “I've one last question for ye. What is the child's name?”

**  
Bethany woke to her door being opened. She sat up, clutching the thin blanket to her chest. One of the Tranquil stood in the doorway.

“First Enchanter Orsino wishes to speak with you,” the woman advised dully, her voice a low monotone which never ceased to chill Bethany. She shook her head, dispelling her fretful dreams, and nodded. I’ll be there momentarily.”

The Tranquil mage nodded and left, closing the door. Bethany dressed quickly, rifling the pockets of the previous day's robe to retrieve her few belongings she carried.

She nibbled on her lip a moment, then retrieved the small knife and slipped it into her pocket, hoping she'd have a chance to find her daughter.

Her fingers brushed a scrap of paper, and she paused, recalling it falling from the journal, but she hadn't given it a glance in favour of studying the horrible spells. She glanced at it now, and her blood froze. A note from Quentin, to Orsino. It wasn't signed, but she'd learned the bloodmage's handwriting investigating his journals. And here he called her mentor friend, thanking him for the loan of the books, how they'd proven fruitful for his pet project. That he'd succeeded in bringing back his love.

He knew. He’d HELPED.

She left the room, and headed for Orsino's office. She barely saw the halls as she passed, and greeted no one though many tried to engage her in conversation. Her long brown hair crackled as she walked, a rime of frost edging along her body, but her gold eyes were ablaze. When she finally reached his office, she let herself in, and was glad to see he was alone. Orsino's head lifted not an inch from where he bent over a book, and Bethany bit back a snarl as she shut the door behind her, and leaned back against it. She let the solid weight ground her, and silently locked the door.

“Orsino, I've a question.” She waited until he lifted his eyes to hers, meeting her furious gaze. The elf was First Enchanter for a reason, and he was used to the rantings of the Knight Commander. Whatever had infuriated Bethany, he could handle it, he was certain.

“Orsino, where is my daughter?” she demanded. Orsino raised a narrow eyebrow, and shook his head.

“You know you cannot know, the Circle has no room for attachments.” He turned his back and strode to the window.

“You won't tell me?” she confirmed softly.

He didn't even look at her. “I will not. The Circle is what is important. You've no need for flights of fancy.”

Bethany gave a quiet, bitter laugh as she stepped softly behind the First Enchanter. Without hesitation, she drew the purloined knife across the elf’s throat from behind. He gave a wretched gurgle, and clutched at his throat, falling against the wall as he turned to face his killer.

“That's for my mother, you son of a bitch. You killed her just as much as your friend Quentin,” she spat, watching the horror reach his eyes as he bled out, too fast to save himself.

Bethany stood in the quiet office, watching her mentor die. She felt numb. She stood staring down at the corpse for who knew how long, when a knock at the door startled her. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide and wild.

“First Enchanter,” came the dull monotone of a Tranquil mage. “Someone wishes to see you, he says it is important.” The door handle was wiggled, and for an instant Bethany feared the lock wouldn't hold.

She looked about frantically. Nowhere to hide, no way to conceal what she'd done. Her mind raced, then screeched to a halt when a second voice came from the hall.

“Are ye even certain he's in there and not elsewhere? Why else would the door be locked?” a familiar, beloved brogue washed over her, and she moved to the door unconsciously. She stopped with her hand pressed to the door, one hand on the lock, but how to signal him? How to get back to her room undetected to wash away the blood? Maker, what can I do? she thought desperately.

“Wait here, ser. I will check elsewhere,” the Tranquil intoned, then a third voice came through.

“I'll help you search, two sets of eyes are better than one! Come on!” Isabela declared, her heeled boots striding down the hall. The gentler shuffling gait of the Tranquil followed with no urgency in pace, nor in her tone of voice as she called after the pirate.

“Please messere, that is the wrong direction.”

Bethany hesitated, uncertain whether to chance the door, not knowing what she would find. After a long moment of indecision, she reached for the lock again, turning it quickly and hauling the door inward, her free hand curled and ready to summon fire.

She stared down at the man on one knee before her, something shiny glinting in his hand. Lockpicks, her brain supplied. He'd been about to pick the lock to Orsino's office. Without hesitation, she reached down, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him forward into the room. He tumbled forward, and kicked the door shut behind him. Bethany snapped the lock shut again, and stared at the man she hadn't seen in more than three years.

“Are ye hurt?” he asked, his eyes flicking from her face to her bodice to her hands, then to the still corpse by the window. He turned his gaze back to her, and there was no judgment in his brilliant blue eyes, only concern and a growing impatience. “Bethany! Are ye injured, love?” he asked again.

She took a step forward, and crumpled to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “He… he helped Quentin learn his awful magic. I trusted him, and he killed my mother! And I still haven't found our daughter, Sebastian, what do we do?”

He knelt before her, careful of the blood everywhere. “Bethy, have you a child name Leah in the classes you teach?”

Bethany's head snapped up, hope written across her face. “No, she's too young yet, I start teaching them at 8… Seb… how did you… are you sure?!”

He gave a wry smile. “Twas well done, with that fool de Launcet. Apparently, I have distinctive eyes.”

Bethany choked a laugh, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, careful to avoid the tacky blood. She looked at her hands almost clinically. “How do we get out of here? The passage? And I've never spoken to Leah, how do we get her away without frightening her to death? And my phylactery must still be destroyed.”

“We'll think of something, Isabela will help, and Fenris can run interference.”

Suddenly, a horrific, wrenching blast shook the Gallows. Bethany fell hard against the corner of Orsino's desk, crying out as she struck her head. She slumped to the floor, dazed, and Sebastian dove to cradle her as the floor continued to shake. He cursed, realising she was bleeding freely from a wound high on her forehead, and he clamped a hand against it tightly.

Finally the shaking stopped, but the noise hardly abated, screaming coming from near and far. Sebastian swore again as he tore the edge from his tunic, making a pad of fabric to press to Bethany's wound. Her face was pale behind a bloody mask, but her eyes tracked him slowly. She was still rattled, letting out a pained moan as her hand came up to feel the injury.

“At least I can explain the blood now,” she muttered, blinking carefully. With Sebastian's help she stood, weaving slightly. She stared down at Orsino’s body, her lip curled in hatred.

A sudden scream sounded outside the door. “Abomination!” cried someone in terror, before a sickening squelch sounded, and orange light flared under the door. Sebastian turned to Bethany and eyed her injury in concern.

“We wanted a disctraction, aye lass?” he quipped, but his brow was creased in worry under his curls.

She snorted with laughter, then winced. “Not what we meant. We have to get out of here, find Isabela and Leah.” She curled her fingers and drew her will, her face a mask of concentration. A ball of blue energy crackled in her palm, chilling the air around then. “Time to go.”

Sebastian nodded and pulled open the door cautiously. Bethany followed him through to the empty hall, though there were smears of blood and ash, and sounds of chaotic fighting in the distance. She turned suddenly, raising her other hand, and sent a fireball back into the room. She watched as Orsino's robe caught and burst into flame.

“’Ware!” cried Sebastian suddenly. She whirled toward him, and her heart clenched to see him fighting an abomination with two daggers, its claws threatening him at each swipe. She sent shards of ice spewing out of the floor beneath it, and Sebastian spun his weapon to strike with the pommel, shattering the monstrosity's skull.

“They've panicked, turned to blood magic. Seb, we have to find her!” Bethany ran through the halls, barreling around corners and up flights of stairs. Sebastian kept pace with her, watching carefully for further attacks. They destroyed several more abominations, as well as demons, and ran onward. They passed bodies of mages, servants, Templars. Sebastian pointed out the body of the Tranquil who'd left with Isabela with a worried frown. When a Templar emerged from a room with his bloodied sword raised to hack at the mage, Sebastian flicked a knife through his visor into the eye socket, dropping the man where he stood.

“Have the Templars gone mad?! Are they attacking every mage in the Gallows?” the rogue cursed as the moved through the upper floors towards the children's quarters.

They encountered a few young apprentices, and chivvied them along, collecting all the children and youths they could. This was no longer simply about their daughter. This was saving the mages from mindless slaughter at the hands of enraged abominations or Templars.

Bethany stopped suddenly, her heart in her mouth. “Sebastian…” she called quietly, as she stared out a narrow window. Fire filled the skyline. “The Chantry is gone, Hightown is burning. How?” She stepped closer to the window, and peered down into the courtyard, and gasped. A familiar form was below, facing off against Meredith, who held a strange, glowing red sword. “Garrett!” she whispered.

“Sweetness, what in blazes is going on?!” came a welcome voice behind them. Bethany whirled, then caught herself against Sebastian's chest as she stumbled, her head throbbing.

“Izzy, help me round up the kids, we're taking the passage. Seb, please…. Help my brother!”

“Bethy… we haven't found her yet, I cannot leave you without our daughter!”

Isabela cleared her throat, and reached back to pull forward a small girl. He dark hair curled about her shoulders, and she looked at them with cerulean eyes brimming with both fear and curiosity. Bethany reached a hand up to her own forehead, breaking the scab, and silently invoked the spell she'd memorized. Her soul PULLED towards the child with a warm pulse of recognition.

She stepped towards her daughter, and gave a careful smile. “Hello, Leah, we've been looking for you for so long.”

The child looked up at her with wary blue eyes, then smiled. “Are you my mama? My friend Izzy said my mama is beautiful. Are you beautiful? You need a bath!” the girl rambled off, and Sebastian choked on his laughter, and crouched to the child's level.

“She's very beautiful little lass, but aye, she does need a bath!” Sebastian winked up at his lover, who wrinkled her nose at him with a grin, and stood. “Leah, stay with Izzy and yer mother now, they'll keep ye safe,” he instructed gently.

He pulled Bethany aside, and gave her a gentle kiss, much to the amusement of the children watching, who broke out in whispers and giggles. “I'll help him, love. But first, where are the phylacteries?” he asked in a low voice, wary of the mages who might choose to return. A quiet cough sounded behind them, and they turned to see Isabela carefully revealing a small vial.

“Don't ask, let's just get out of here!” declared the rogue.

**

They escaped through the passage, and invaded her brother’s home. Filled to bursting with children, servants, apprentice mages, as well as a few adults who'd had the same thought, to protect the younglings. Sebastian had left them to join the fray against Meredith, and Bethany prayed he would return to her safely. Varric arrived first, and Bethany gave him a highly sanitized version. Orsino dead at her hand for his role in Leandra's death, the chaos, the evacuation through the passage. Though Leah clung to her side, she didn't tell the dwarf who she was, and he was too exhausted to ask. He eventually moved to the library to escape the chaos, even if only by remove of a single door.

Finally, the main door to the house opened, and her brother came through. He stared at her in disbelief, his exhaustion writ large across his handsome face.

“Bethany, I searched the Gallows for you! So many bodies, and the fires… I feared the worst!” he exclaimed, striding forward to greet her with a rough embrace.

Bethany returned the gesture with one arm, the other holding her daughter's hand. “Brother, meet your niece, Leah.” Hawke reared back in surprise, his gold eyes darting from his sister to the child hiding behind her skirts. “Varric is in the library, but first, I have some things to tell you.”

**

Sebastian looked to his wife of two years, who sat nursing their infant son while their daughter climbed the furniture behind her. He held a sheaf of papers in his hand, and smiled at his family.

“Your brother writes, lass. He says he and Fenris are on their way to Weisshaupt, to rally the wardens. They'll visit on the way back. He was helping the Inquisition with Varric for a time, so perhaps we'll hear from the dwarf as well.”

Bethany smiled up at her husband. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Varric wouldn't want to turn questions our way, since we've managed to avoid official attention all these years.”

Sebastian gave the boyish grin that took a decade off his face, the light of mischief in his eyes. “Varric isn't just helping the inquisition, he's best friends with the Inquisitor, and that seeker who came questioning? She's a friend now as well!”

Bethany snatched the letter from him, her eyes skimming through quickly. “After that ridiculous tale he told her? I couldn't believe he sold it, but to become friends with her afterwards? What are the odds?”

Sebastian reached down and pointed to a line of her brother's neat scrawl. “Apparently, by flirting with her,” he laughed.

Bethany burst out laughing, and pulled her husband down for a kiss. The war between mages and Templars wasn't settled yet, and she'd had more than her share of grief. But here and now, she could be happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, all mistakes are my own. I typed this out on my cell phone in 12 days, so please, if you see a glaring typo, just let me know. :)


End file.
